


This Is It

by holyhael



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 07:04:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3281267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holyhael/pseuds/holyhael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: apocalypse/dystopian au</p><p>“Wait! Don’t shoot! I’m not infected!”</p><p>Clarke lowers her gun but doesn’t remove her finger from the trigger, just as a precaution. She gazes down the barrel at the woman limping through the street - it’s the limping that caught Clarke’s attention and immediately made her think <i>zombie. Threat. Neutralize</i>. It’s been the end of the world for too long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is It

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for injuries and bad medical stuff probably.  
> for a zombie apocalypse au, this contains surprisingly little actual zombies.  
> if the lack of proofreading shows, i apologize.

“Wait! Don’t shoot! I’m not infected!”

Clarke lowers her gun but doesn’t remove her finger from the trigger, just as a precaution. She gazes down the barrel at the woman limping through the street - it’s the limping that caught Clarke’s attention and immediately made her think _zombie. Threat. Neutralize_. It’s been the end of the world for too long.

The woman breathes out in relief and collapses against the side of the building. She certainly doesn’t look infected - there are no signs of decay or madness - but she is injured. Injuries Clarke can deal with.

She approaches her, making sure to be noisy so the woman knows she’s right next to her. “I have medical training, okay, let me look at it.”

The woman grunts, then rolls her injury around for Clarke. It’s been haphazardly bandaged, but the bandage is dirty and smelly. Even in the apocalypse that’s not a good sign. Clarke unwinds it, fearing the worst of what it hides.

The woman’s leg is lacerated, cut so deep Clarke can see bone. She suppresses a gag with the back of her hand, both at the sight and the smell. This woman might not be infected with the zombie virus, but she’s infected with something all right.

“That bad, huh?” Clarke looks up; the woman is grimacing apologetically at her. Sweat shines on her forehead. “Yeah, thought so.”

“It’s infected really bad,” Clarke says. “I don’t even know if it can be fixed.”

“Fuck.” The woman bites her bottom lip, looking away. A pang of sympathy rings through Clarke. Again, the woman says, “Fuck.”

“What’s your name?” Clarke asks, stuffing her gun into her holster. Hopefully she won’t need it anytime soon and Clarke can get this woman back to the Ark without obstacles.

“Raven Reyes,” she replies. She’s losing energy, but she still holds her hand up like she wants Clarke to shake it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Clarke. Think you can walk at all? There’s shelter a few miles from here.”

“Miles?” Raven repeats, and from the sound of her voice apparently the prospect is daunting. Nevertheless, she says, “Yeah, I can do that.”

Clarke has her doubts about that, but she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she just helps Raven onto her feet, and wordlessly they hobble out of the city.

Alone, it doesn’t usually take Clarke longer than two hours to go on a supply run, but Raven’s injury slows them down significantly on the return journey. Mom must be worried sick about her, wondering if she was too slow, got infected, became the enemy. They already lost Dad and too many of their friends; they can’t lose each other too.

The Ark is nothing more than an abandoned goods station, littered with railcars and metal debris. Nearly fifty people live here, most of whom are teenagers like Clarke. A twenty foot fence topped with barb wire deters most zombies, and those it doesn’t are taken care of by Bellamy and his guard. It’s the safest place on Earth, at least as far as Clarke knows.

A guard shouts to open the gate when she sees Clarke and Raven at the entrance. Raven leans her shoulder against Clarke’s and breathes heavily from the exertion. She needs to go to the medical center immediately. Clarke shoves the bag of supplies she found at the nearest guard who approaches them and steers Raven in the direction of sickbay.

Her mom is already there, shining a light in a little girl’s mouth. When she hears Clarke and Raven, she whips around and immediately helps Clarke assist Raven onto the table.

“What happened?” she asks. Clarke can only shake her head.

“Don’t know. But she’s infected, feverish.” She better not have brought Raven all the way out here just to die. “It’s her leg. Look at her leg.”

She’s bled through the filthy gauze. Fuck.

“Clarke, find something she can bite down on. Fast.”

Her belt will do. She slips it off her waist and holds it in front of Raven.

“Bite down,” she says. Raven does. Clarke finds her hand and squeezes. “I’m sorry.”

+ 

Hours later, long after the sun has sunken into the horizon and only a short time until it will dawn again, Clarke remains by Raven’s side. She changes her bandages, watches her steady breaths, cools her sweaty forehead. When Raven finally wakes up, Clarke sits up in her chair and lets out a breath of relief.

“Hey,” Raven rasps and licks her lips. Before she can ask for it, Clarke hands her a cup of water. “Oh, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Raven drinks greedily, head tilted back, the long column of her throat bared. She lets out a gasp when she’s finished.

“More?” Clarke asks. Raven nods, so Clarke takes the cup from her and refills it at the faucet. When she gives Raven the cup back, Raven only takes one sip before setting the cup down. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Raven spits truthfully. She lays back down, practically sinking into the lumpy mattress. On impulse, Clarke brushes a lock of hair out of her face, and Raven only blinks up at her. “My leg still hurts like hell. What did you do to it?”

_Oh. Fuck_. Clarke’s mouth goes dry. How does she explain to Raven that not only does she not have a leg anymore, but that the pain she’s feeling is all in her head?

Taking a deep breath, Clarke lays her hand on Raven’s head. She hopes the touch is comforting. “I think my mom should tell you. She’s the doctor. She- um.” Clarke shakes her head, dislodging the words that were about to come out of her mouth. _She amputated your lower leg._ “She should really say.”

“Well, where is she now?”

“It’s after midnight; she’s sleeping.”

“Oh.” Raven looks thoughtful. “Have you just been sitting here all day then? Or all night, whatever?”

“Well….” Clarke trails off, trying to find the right words. Raven shakes her head and scoots to one side of the bed before she can find them, though, and she pats the newly empty space.

“Come on, get some shut eye. You look like you’re going to fall asleep any minute now.”

As tempting as it is….

Oh, screw it. It’s the apocalypse. A cute girl is inviting Clarke into her bed. Clarke smiles at her.

“Yeah, okay.”

The last time she slept next to another human being was when the apocalypse first began and she slept with her mom and dad in their bed. That was over ten years ago. Today, Clarke presses herself up against Raven’s back. She smells like grime and antiseptic, and she’s warm to the touch. Clarke’s leg bumps into the gauzy stump where Raven’s knee used to be, and they sleep.

 


End file.
